


Variation

by Natalya



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ballet, Established Relationship, F/M, Love, Night time wandering, story telling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natalya/pseuds/Natalya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Natasha disappears at night Clint decides to follow her to find out where she's going.  Once he finds her, he cannot help but watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Variation

**Author's Note:**

> I must apologise hugely for the lacking accents on certain words. That is entirely the fault of myself, and an unco-operative computer. I hope that it doesn't detract from the reading, and I hope that that aside you enjoy it!. 
> 
> Secondly I must put in a disclaimer to say that the characters do not belong to me, I make no money off this, and it is done purely for fun and nothing more.

Darkness filled the room, thick, soft, velvety blackness broken only by a faint line of grey light coming under the closed door. The sound of gentle breathing was the only sound, steady, regular, the sound of peaceful sleep, two people breathing almost in unison. The rhythm was broken suddenly as one person came to wakefulness, there was the rustling sound of cloth, of a duvet being pushed back, the slight creak of the mattress as one of the occupants of the room sat up, sliding out of bed, padding across the thick carpet on near silent feet. The footsteps stopped abruptly, followed by the sound of a box being pulled out from beneath furniture, the lid being pulled off and something being taken out. The footsteps started once again, this time heading towards the door. The door opened on silent hinges and a shadowy figure slipped through the crack, out into the hallway beyond. 

As the door closed the other sleeper woke up. Clint rolled over in bed, feeling the empty space beside him where Natasha had been sleeping, the sheets still warm from her body. He frowned slightly, rubbing one hand lightly across his face. He sat up, listening for her still in the room, in the darkness. He was alone. “Jarvis?” He asked, still not quite used to the AI even after having taken up residence in the tower several months previously. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“Could you turn on the lights?” 

A steady glow permeated the room and Clint ran a hand through his sleep mussed hair. “Thanks. Where’s Tasha gone?” 

“I believe that she is en route to the training room, sir.” 

Clint glanced at the clock. Half past four in the morning. Not the most unusual time he’d known her to be up. Their sleep patterns could be haphazard, especially between missions. He flipped the cover back, getting out of bed, tugging on a pair of tracksuit bottoms that he’d left discarded on the floor the night before. He padded across the room, then down the corridor to the lift. He headed down to the training rooms, following the trail that Natasha would have taken. When he reached the corridor leading to the training rooms he paused, hanging back in the shadows. He suddenly felt loath to disturb her, slowly edging forward, bare feet silent against the hard wood flooring. He could see one of the doors slightly ajar still, and knew that was where she had gone. A slight smile curved his lips and he crept across the floor to the door, staring through the gap into the room beyond. 

She had dragged a metal railing into the centre of the space, one of the many random things that they used to train with to simulate something they may well find in the streets on a mission, something to be a weapon, or a defence. She was sat on the floor however, with her back to the door and he couldn’t quite make out what she was doing.   
Natasha opened the box in front of her, slowly, almost reverently, taking out a pair of pointe shoes, lightly running her fingers across the satin surface. She pulled out a small roll of tape from the bottom of the box, methodically wrapping a strip around each of her toes with a smoothness that came from long habit and practice. Without hesitation she slipped her first foot into one of the shoes, coming up to one knee, flexing her foot as she tied the ribbons, doing the same with the other. She stood in one fluid motion, stepping over to the metal barrier, one hand lightly touching it. She was perfectly still for a moment, centring herself. She could feel eyes upon her and knew without looking who it would be. She didn’t care. 

Clint watched, head slightly on one side, a smile just touching his lips as he watched her beginning to warm up, running from one exercise to another, pliés, grand pliés, tendus, battement degage, grand battement, fondu, slow adage at the barre, moving to echappe releves, through countless exercises, with perfect poise, perfect posture, moving smoothly from one to the next. She wore only the tank top and shorts that she had worn to bed, and he couldn’t help his eyes roaming over her, all tight, lean muscle and sinew moving beneath creamy skin. 

She moved away from the barre, pressed play on the music player in the corner, and at that moment, began to dance. 

That became her world. Everything around her melted away. Everything was condensed down to her, and the music around her. The music flowed through her body, through every fibre of her being. She felt herself in complete control, her movements strong, fluid. 

Clint felt his mouth go suddenly dry. He’d never seen her dance. Never really watched ballet. Now he watched her. The slight smile that had curved his lips had disappeared, and he simply stared, watching as she danced. She was strong, confident, almost demanding, her movements strong and graceful, owning the room. There was something almost sensual, a seductive undertone that melded with the music that surrounded them. 

Slowly the music began to change, becoming sadder, longing. Her dancing changed, the confidence seeming to leech out of her, she looked lost, suddenly younger, confused. He felt a sudden aching in his chest, he swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze away. She moved away in a series of chaînés, before sinking slowly, gracefully to the floor. She rose again, arms moving delicately, face full of longing as she stood, turning to face him. He couldn’t tear himself away as her eyes met his. She took slow steps forward, one arm outstretched towards him, desperately reaching out to him. 

In that moment he knew what she was dancing. She was dancing her life. The confidence, the dark seduction, that was the Red Room, the contract killer. This, this moment was when he saved her, when he brought her in. When he took her away from it. He pushed the door open slowly, taking a step into the room, as she bowed her head, arm dropping, meeting the other in a low second as she took minute steps backwards, swift, feet seeming to ripple, floating over the floor. He watched, still, watched the way she danced, still amazed that she could move like that, dancing on her toes, almost unreal, perfectly balanced, perfectly poised. 

Natasha could feel the emotions flow through her, almost overwhelming, could feel the sadness, the sense of confusion, of being lost, of being desperate to be rescued from it all as her world had shattered and come crashing down around her. She let a tear roll down her cheek unchecked, never stopping what she was doing, letting Clint enter the room with her. This was after all, partly his story as well. Again the music began to change, becoming more joyful, strong once again. She slowly span in a pirouette en attitude, coming down to look directly at Clint, strutting towards him en pointe, flicking her heels up behind her, confident, happy, a smile curving her lips. As she drew closer he could see the sheen of sweat on her skin, could feel the energy that radiated from her. 

Suddenly she drew away, turning in a series of jetes, culminating in a grand jete, legs split in the air, landing, springing back en pointe into another attitude, to fondue arabesque, finishing down on one knee, arms crossed over her chest, hands delicately by her shoulders. 

Clint realised that his hands were gripping the barrier tight where he had come to stand, almost holding his breath. He watched her chest rising and falling swiftly, out of breath herself after the dance, couldn’t help but see the still drying tracks of salty tears on her cheeks. Slowly he let go of the barrier, letting out a slow breath. “Natasha...” 

Hearing him whisper her name, she slowly stepped forward, a gentle smile curving her lips. It was a smile that she always reserved for Clint, and for Clint alone. “You’ve been there the whole time.” 

“I woke up and you were gone.” He replied simply, watching her as she stopped a pace away from him. 

“So you followed me?” 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

She laughed softly, reaching out, running her fingers down the side of his face, feeling the rough stubble beneath her fingertips. “I am. Sometimes I need, just need to dance.” 

“I’ve never seen you do that before.” 

“It’s been a while. But I do it often enough that I do not forget, that I can still do it. I slip out, at times, when I know I have an empty space.” 

He reached out, lightly running his calloused fingers down her cheek, stroking a few strands of sweat damp hair away. “It’s a release for you isn’t it? An escape. Like when I go and do parkour, for fun.” 

She smiled at his understanding, nodded. “It is. That dance...”

“Was your story.” He finished her sentence for her and she nodded again, a low chuckle escaping her lips. 

“It is impossible to surprise you.” 

“You surprised me when you first came down here. How did you know I was there?” 

“You think that I didn’t hear you? The creak of the door gave you away. I could sense you behind me. I could smell a tiny hint of your aftershave. You will have to try harder if you wish to sneak up on me.” 

“Oh I will,” he promised, “perhaps the next time you dance?” 

“Perhaps. If you know about it.” She hesitated for a few seconds. 

“Talk to me.” He had seen the hesitation, seen the slightly raw look in her eyes, swiftly veiled. 

Clint’s voice had hardened slightly and Natasha didn’t fail to notice it. “There isn’t much say. So many things have happened. The chitauri attack, Loki, you. Moving into Stark Tower with the rest of our merry band. It’s a big change. A lot to adjust to.”

Clint swallowed, feeling a brief heaviness in his chest as his mind sprang back to those days. He had had countless psych evals since then, had been talked to by too many counsellors trying to bring him to terms with it all. None of that had mattered. None had touched what was happening in his mind, in his battered soul. Instead, it had been Tasha, who had been deconstructed too many times, who had rebuilt herself who taught him what to do, who had helped him, had been with him all the way. 

“It has been.” His simply voiced agreement forces her to look straight at him, her green eyes meeting his cool grey ones. His lips quirked in a slight smile as he reached out, lightly touching her shoulder, letting his fingers traces down her damp skin. She smiled, slowly sinking to the floor, nimble fingers making short work of the ribbons of her shoes. Clint dropped down beside her, sitting on the hard wood floor, watching her as she pulled off each shoe, stretching out her feet and toes as she did. 

Gently he took one of her feet into his rough, calloused hands, massaging with firm, confident strokes. Natasha made a soft noise of approval and let a low chuckle slip past her lips. “My feet aren’t pleasant right now.” She stated. “Ballet doesn’t make for pretty feet.” 

“No. It doesn’t.” He replied equably, continuing with what he was doing. “But, that doesn’t matter to me. I don’t care if your feet are pretty. They’re part of you. Strong. Useful. Able to do things that others can’t. That’s pretty enough for me.” 

She leant back, resting her weight on her hands. “You’re a romantic fool.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Are we going to stay here?” Her voice was soft as she asked, suddenly sounding almost uncertain, something that she refused to be in front of most people. “At the tower. As part of the Avengers.” 

“Do you want to?” He asked, not looking up at her, concentrating on what he was doing, lightly tapping her shin, motioning for her to give him her other foot. 

“Do I want to? I don’t know. If we do decide to stay with them, there’s no going back to how things were. I liked my life.” 

“There’s already going back to how things were. We made our choice that day on the helicarrier when we left to fight the aliens in the city. Now, now we’re along for the ride. They need us, Tasha. You know that they do.” 

“We’re too visible.” 

“Too visible to go undercover anymore you mean?” 

“Mm.” She pulled her other foot away, drawing her knees up to her chest as she did. “It’s all I’ve known, Clint. All I’ve known. All I was trained for. All I was supposed to be from when I was a child.” 

“You still can. We still can. It will just be different. But, we’re a team. Partners. In work and out. If you want to walk away from all of this, I will do it with you. I’ll be by your side. You know this Tasha. You know me as well as I know myself, as well as you know yourself.” 

She nodded, her eyes meeting his for an instant. “I will stay.” 

“Then so will I.” He replied, shifting from where he was knelt in front of her, coming around to her side, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “All for one...” 

“We are not musketeers.” 

“Still counts.” Clint chuckled. “You want to stay down here? It’s near enough dawn now you know.” 

“I know. I’ll come up, get showered, and get ready for the day.” 

Clint nodded and stood up, holding out one hand, pulling Natasha to her feet before picking up her shoes for her. She grabbed the box and looked back at him to take the shoes from only to watch him turning them over in his hands, brow slightly furrowed, a fond smile just curving his lips. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand how you do it.” 

“That’s part of the beauty of the ballet.” She replied softly with a gentle laugh. She held out her hand, taking her shoes from him, tucking the box under one arm, shoes dangling by their ribbons from her other hand. “Maybe next time you can do some of the work? It’s a long time since I’ve had a partner to lift me you know.” 

Clint gave her a sidelong glance, one eyebrow raised. “Can you imagine it?” 

“Easily. You only have to lift me, partner me for some bits. We’ll see. I’m not expecting a full pas de deux you know.” 

“Do you think that Jarvis has the footage of that dance?” He asked, glancing instinctively upwards. 

“Indeed, Sir, I do. You will be able to access it whenever you choose.” Came the smooth tones of Jarvis. 

“I would like to ensure that only Clint and myself have access to this...” 

“Of course, Madam. Only yourself and Mr Barton are now able to access the footage.” 

“Thank you, Jarvis.” 

“My pleasure, Madam.” 

Clint grinned, throwing one arm round her waist. “Breakfast?” 

“Da.” She replied with a smile, ready to face the day. 

The End.


End file.
